Psycho Killers in Love

by C. T. Phipps

  “I can’t move,” Nancy muttered, her teeth clenched.

  “I’m sorry,” I muttered. “I should have expected this.”

  I had. I’d been stupid, though, to not realize that there was no glory in a heroic stand against an enemy you couldn’t defeat.

  “I’m sorry you feel this way, William,” Lamia said. “Human men have a very stupid sense of what’s heroic. Kill your little girlfriend.”

  I felt my body stand, straighten, and my bloody hands lift up into an strangling gesture. I could not control myself even as I turned around. “No.”

  “Yes,” Lamia said.

  Nancy looked at me in horror as my hands reached for her throat. I tried to somehow will myself to die. I was willing to sell myself to the Spirit of the Hunt to stop myself but I couldn’t feel her presence anymore. “Please, kill me.”

  “With pleasure,” Lamia said, her voice filled with scorn. “After you’re done.”

  “Klaatu Barada Nikto,” I heard my sister mutter something that wasn’t those three words but might as well have been for their nonsense value. She continued for several more seconds before finishing.

  It was like my strings had been cut and my hands stopped at Nancy’s throat. Nancy punched me in the face.

  “Ow,” I said, holding my nose. It was broken.

  “You evil still?” Nancy asked.

  “No,” I said.

  “Oh, good,” Nancy said, looking at Lamia.

  Lamia looked confused and turned back to look at Carrie, lying on the ground with the stolen page of the Necronomicon in her hand. “What have you done, daughter?”

  “Just cast the spell that turns vampires back into humans,” Carrie said, looking up. “This book is empowered by the same gods who empower you, right? I mean, I don’t expect it to take long and you’re still an evil witch, but I figure it’d remove at least most of your powers until the bosses notice. I’m not too sure how this magic stuff works, really.”

  Lamia opened her mouth to cast a spell or perhaps simply curse her. Then Mike cut off her head with one swift gesture, causing it to bounce against the floor. That was when Mike turned on both of us. I could practically hear John Carpenter’s theme playing as he advanced.

  Aw, hell.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Out of the frying pan and into the fire.

  I was barely able to move thanks to what my mother had done to my mind. I felt like the entirety of my body was a wobbling mess. I’d only managed to survive the asylum by pushing down my emotions and tightening my self-control. In an environment where absolutely nothing was under my control but my reaction to things, being the stoic had kept me sane. My mother had ripped all of that away and left me weak as a kitten.

  The fact that she was decapitated and her body on the ground didn’t make me feel any better about the situation. Lamia had died before and would undoubtedly die again. Killing her permanently, if such a thing could be accomplished at all, would require the power of beings far more powerful than ourselves. She was the source of slasher immortality, though her being our race’s mother contradicted the story Bloody Mary had told me. Either way, I was certain she’d be back and pissed off even if she’d been temporarily stripped of her vampiric powers by the Necronomicon.

  Right now, I had bigger problems than my momentarily deceased mother, though. Mike had taken advantage of the temporary interruption in my mother’s mind control to kill her, but his movements were immediately moved from savoring his kill of our ancestor to turn against us. He was completely silent as he moved and yet I could feel the power radiating off him. He lifted his knife to strike at us, only to have Nancy’s battle ax bury itself in his head.

  “This is for my mother, you bitch!” Nancy snapped.

  “Twice in one day!” Carrie shouted from behind Mike, slowly trying to get up. “You are just a filthy mouthed harlot now!”

  “Shut up,” Nancy said, taking a step back, and looking at Mike who only stumbled a step before backhanding her across the room with the same level of force a superhero might use to throw a car.

  “Oh hell,” I said, getting up to a crouch.

  Mike casually pulled the ax out of his face and came at me with his knife. I managed to catch both of his arms as he attacked me even as I had to brace myself against the floor. Mike exerted more force than any human being—any dozen human beings, could against me—but, I managed to hold firm against him. I was not any more human than he was and had the blood of demons running through my veins. Even so, I could feel him slowly press the weapon down against me. He was the subject of an entire world’s nightmares, the popularity of his movies giving him an endless wellspring to draw from.

  So I proceeded to smash my head into his plaster mask, shattering it and causing him to back away in order to cover his face. It was a surprising motion, but I realized that he was only as strong as his ability to embody the fears he cultivated. Lifting the battle ax, I stared at him in contempt. “Have you ever fought anyone who could ever fight back? Oh right, you have, and they kicked your ass every time.”

  Mike looked up at me with his perfectly normal, even handsome features and I could see the utterly empty creature behind his eyes. There was no guilt or remorse, but my words triggered something within him. He was now officially pissed off and that was probably not a good thing. Even cut off from his power, he was still one of the strongest slashers of all time.

  A series of gunshots rang out as an entire clip of bullets was emptied into Mike’s back, one of them missing him and whizzing past my face. Gerald was standing behind him with Carrie, holding the weapon badly and shaking. It was easy to see that he’d never held a gun before in his life but had managed to mostly hit his mark, if for no reason than men built like Frankenstein’s monster were hard to miss.

  Mike stared back at Gerald, perturbed, but otherwise unharmed.

  “Oh hell,” Gerald said. “Can we run now?”

  “No,” Carrie said.

  “But I’m really scared!” Gerald snapped.

  “Silence, slave!” Carrie said, lifting a 151-proof bottle of Bacardi rum from the bar and hurling it at Mike before it shattered against his face. Mike started walking toward her before Carrie lifted her still-burning joint off the ground then flicked it at him. Mike proceeded to go up like a Roman candle, burning across his shoulders and face but continuing to walk.

  “And now he’s on fire,” Gerald said. “Great plan, Carrie!”

  “Shut up!” Carrie said, looking scared for the first time.

  That was when Cujo bit Mike’s leg, savagely attacking it and doing his best to defend his mistress. Mike responded by kicking the dog and there was a sickening crunching sound as it smacked against the wall.

  “No!” Carrie screamed.

  I swung the battle ax around and buried it in Mike’s spine. Mike flinched despite the fact he’d barely registered he was on fire and turned around. He proceeded to stab me through the front of my chest, hitting the wrong side of my chest for my heart, then started to move his flaming arms up to strangle me. I stared at him and he stared at me.

  “You shouldn’t have hurt the dog,” I grunted as I felt fire scald my neck and face. I then reached up and grabbed him by his flaming head, feeling pain surge through my nerves that rivaled anything I’d ever experienced in my life. That was when Mike’s eyes widened as I put my foot on his chest and proceeded to rip his head clean off, tossing it to one side. My face burned, my shoulders, and then the rest of me, but it was worth it to defeat the serial killer. Falling to my knees, I prepared for another death. Perhaps one I wouldn’t recover from. I had no idea if slashers could kill other slashers permanently.

  Oh, spare me your maudlin sense of self-sacrifice, Bloody Mary said. You’re not dead yet and keeping you down would require at least decapitation.

  Are you still here? I asked, annoyed. It was amazing how little pain I started to feel after just the first few seconds of burning alive.

  That’s shock, my
dear. Unfortunately, this is not your death, William, Bloody Mary said. I’m not done with you yet.

  My answer was interrupted by Gerald emptying a seltzer bottle in my face and putting out the flames consuming my flesh. “I promise I’ll get you to the hospital, William! We can get some plastic surgery done and save you! Just promise me you’re not going to use this as an excuse to come back as the Burning Guy and kill a bunch of camp counsellors for it.”

  I looked up at him, steaming.

  Gerald blinked. “The Burning was a 1981 movie by Harvey Weinstein. It’s literally the only slasher movie I’ve ever seen.”

  Carrie looked over at one of the corpses next to the bar. “Yeah, I don’t think he’s going to be making any more of those.”

  “What a shame,” I muttered, having a bad feeling about the guy since I’d first seen him on the news. “How do I look?”

  “Horrible,” Gerald said, showing his mastery of bedside manner. “You look like someone, well, set your face on fire. It’s kind of pizza-y if you want my medical opinion. You look like an entirely different slasher now.”

  “Worth it,” I muttered.

  “Cujo!” Carrie shouted, running over to the fallen form of her dog. She grabbed up the fallen mini-pit bull and cuddled it close to her arms.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, standing up while still smoldering. The rest of my body was regenerating, but I didn’t know about my face. “He was a good dog.”

  Carrie looked on the verge of tears.

  “You still have a knife stuck in you,” Gerald said, delicately. “Uh, I can remove that, but it should probably be under controlled circumstances. You don’t want to start bleeding out.”

  “Not now,” I said, turning around to see if Nancy was alright.

  Nancy was hunched over, carrying the severed head of Aiden Cassidy who, going by the hideous expression on his face, was still animated. “Sorry, broke my back. That’s taking a little while to heal. The zombie here tried to make a play for my throat while I was disabled. He found out the hard way that wasn’t a good idea.”

  Aiden’s head mouthed various misogynist insults ranging from whore to more explicit language. It seemed some people never learned, even if their unlife literally depended on it. Nancy lifted the head, stared at it, and then threw it down the hallway. Aiden’s head bounced against the ground and slid down the hall in an amusing fashion.

  “I see,” I said, nodding in approval to her actions. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

  Nancy paused and looked at me. “You look like...well, you don’t look good.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said, frowning. “I know it must affect your feelings for me.”

  “Wait ’til I get a few drinks in me,” Nancy replied. “I think I see your face healing over. Is that supposed to happen?”

  “No,” I said, blinking. “At least I don’t think so.”

  “Well, we are half-vampire,” Carrie replied, laying down Cujo’s body next to the Necronomicon. “Be happy, William. I know I am. I would never want an ugly brother. Your sexiness has always been a boon to my mood.”

  Everyone looked at her oddly.

  “Sorry, I’m just making conversation while I prepare to raise my dog from the dead,” Carrie said, putting her page back into book and flipping through it. “I’d prefer to do this at a pet cemetery but we’ll just have to make do.”

  I stared at her. “The moral of that book is completely lost on you, isn’t it?”

  “No,” Carrie said. “Don’t be mean to your undead demon cat and it won’t murder your child.”

  I blinked. As an alternative Aesop, it functioned well. “I’m just saying perhaps Cujo is in a better place.”

  “I don’t want him in a better place, I want him with me,” Carrie said, flipping through the book. “Ooo, here’s a spell about alternate realities.”

  Nancy and I exchanged a glance.

  “I’m just glad this is all over,” Nancy muttered.

  “Oh no,” Gerald felt his face. “You’ve jinxed it.”

  “That’s not a real thing,” Nancy said, looking over at Mike’s corpse. “We’ve beaten...son of a witch.”

  I turned around to see there was no sign of the serial killer’s corpse. Both his head and his body had disappeared.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” I muttered.

  “This is why you never take your eyes off the slasher,” Nancy muttered. “There’s always a sequel.”

  That was when I saw my mother in the reflection of the bar mirror, her arms crossed and looking quite upset. “It appears we’re not going to have to wait very long for the sequel. Her ghost is hanging around.”

  Nancy did a double take as she saw Lamia looking at us. “Oh crap. Can she do anything to us?”

  I could hear my sister muttering an enchantment behind us. “Well, given Billy could rip into an alternate dimension as a ghost, I’m going to say that my mother is able to do a lot more. We should probably move.”

  My mother’s stare burned itself into my mind, though, as she stretched out her arms and began speaking in the same language as the Necronomicon. I couldn’t hear her but saw her make the invocations to the Elder Gods.

  You can’t stop her here, Bloody Mary whispered. But I can.

  I’ll take my chances, I replied. My soul is my own.

  Ha! Bloody Mary laughed. Your soul is already damned. You’ve called on my power and I have placed my mark on you. The only question is whether you will reign in hell or suffer in it. Besides it, I know the person you’d sacrifice it for.

  What do you— I started to think.

  “Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary,” Nancy said, staring at the mirror.

  That was when the blood-soaked figure of our dark goddess appeared behind Lamia and stabbed her through the back of the chest with a wicked looking demonic sword. Lamia’s eyes only registered shock for a second before her body immolated. I still didn’t think this was enough to put her down permanently, but it probably meant she’d be a lot longer returning from the grave. But at what price?

  “Nancy, what have you done?” I asked, shocked.

  “What I had to do,” Nancy said.

  That was when I heard the sound of a happy bark. I turned around and saw an undead Cujo snuggling against Carrie, licking her face and leaving behind some cute little bloodstains. “Bark-bark!”

  Gerald stared at the results. “Are you guys related to Tim Burton? It would explain so much.”

  “Probably,” I replied, feeling my face.

  It was hard to believe it was all over, but somehow, we’d managed to do it. Lamia was defeated. She’d done the lion’s share of work slaughtering the Fraternity of Orion, and we’d managed to rescue the TAA sorority’s members. Well, honestly, they’d rescued themselves, but I was going to give us points for the assist. Mike and Lucky had managed to survive, but we’d put Billy’s ghost in the ground permanently. It was, in simple terms, a good couple of days. All it had potentially cost was my face and Nancy’s soul.

  No, I said. I’ll fight for it. I’ll get it back. No matter the cost.

  Bloody Mary didn’t respond.

  That was when I started hearing moans coming from all around us. They weren’t coming from any specific body around us. Instead, I heard them from every single one of the bodies around us.

  “Uh,” I looked at Nancy. “Are you hearing that?”

  “Unfortunately, yes,” I said.

  Gerald looked around. “Is this Lamia’s doing? I mean, because I was thinking she’d turn me against the rest of you and I’m really surprised she didn’t.”

  “Mom would never remove my slave,” Carrie said, cuddling her now animated zombie dog. “That would just be rude.”

  Gerald sighed.

  “Either my mother’s magic is raising everyone here from the dead to kill us all or it’s a side effect of you misusing the Necronomicon,” I said, calculating just how many zombies we might be dealing with. Staring down the hallways and seeing the
furthest corpses twitching, I suspected the answer was all of them.

  “So, we gonna run?” Nancy asked. “Or fight?”

  “One hundred and twelve,” I replied.

  Nancy nodded. “Run!”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Through the Looking Glass’ Red Queen said that you had to run as fast as you could in order to stay in the same place. If you wanted to go anywhere, you had to run twice as fast as that. If ever there was a scene in my life that summarized that concept, it was the fact that I’d managed to defeat most of my enemies and survive only to now have an entire army of zombies rising from the dead.

  Revenants, not zombies, Bloody Mary said. These are much, much more dangerous than mere zombies or draugr.

  Thank you, I said, sarcastically. Haven’t you gotten what you wanted yet?

  Oh my dear, William, this is the most fun I’ve had in centuries, Bloody Mary said. You aren’t getting rid of me that easily.

  The revenant of a famous movie producer rose from the couch, where he stood and tried to bite my face off only for me to rip his right arm off and start swatting him down. I proceeded to kick him into someone who strongly resembled Jeffrey Epstein and knocked them both away before running to the doors leading outside.

  Much to my surprise, I already saw several dismembered corpses around the exit, with Cujo wagging its tail and spitting out someone’s ear. Carrie and Gerald were standing there as Nancy joined us, roundhouse kicking away another revenant.

  Nancy looked at me. “Hey, your face is almost healed! Your hair has also grown back!”

  “Not the time, Nancy,” I said, dryly. That was when I felt an immense surge of pain in my chest before Mike’s knife started forcing itself out of my chest. Giving it a pull, I managed to draw it out and hacked away at several revenants coming at me.

  That was when I noticed that the fire started by Carrie had spread from Mike and me to the carpet then the bar. Some of the liquors on display were apparently more than normal since a few of the bottles outright exploded. The flames spread across the growing herd of undead and they let out wailing screams of the damned being, well, set on fire. But, like with Mike, it just seemed to tick them off rather than destroy them.